


Paint Our Love

by L_o_l_a



Series: Hunger Games AU [2]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_o_l_a/pseuds/L_o_l_a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU The 74th Hunger Games is interrupted by the rebellion. In the midst of it? Johanna Mason: determined that Snow pays for what he has done, and Finnick Odair: determined to support Johanna no matter the cost.<br/>Side-piece to 'Called Out In The Dark' Catoniss piece; though both can be read at standalones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Containment

**Author's Note:**

> Please review - any feedback, questions and constructive praise or criticism is loved! x

‘Paint Our Love’  
Chapter One: Containment. 

She’d once been what her mother had described as a ‘happy-go-lucky’ child: always smiling and laughing and delighted with the world and the people in it. There were even photos of her when she had painted her entire face blue ‘just because’; and photos of her grinning toothily at the age of 6 with both hands stuffed with sweets, trying to offer them to a collection of stuffed toys…  
So different to what she was now; who she was now. When she was reaped; still a sweet and chirpy 17 year old, no-one thought she would even survive. No-one knew that she had that hardness, that violence, that coldness in her. She knew. She knew the second she reached the podium and had shaken hands with Frederiken. She knew she could kill to survive, she knew she could play the game and win.

Finnick had known it too; but not until he saw her at the presentation of the tributes. During the reaping his attention had been on Frederiken- on that well-built, hard-edged 16 year old boy. His eyes had drifted over Johanna- a petite, pretty honey-haired girl who looked like the perfect prey: the deer to the Career lions- but only briefly. Briefly, yet long enough to make him blink twice at her wide dark eyes that seemed to lock on him through the screen. Then he saw her at the presentation and he knew what the rest of Panem was yet to realise: she was going to be the Victor. Of course, there were moments during the Games when he doubted that first thought: when she was hiding, wounded and exhausted after her brief scuffle at the Cornucopia he thought then it might have been down to the lighting, or the noise or the cleverness of her stylist. But by the end of the games he could only recall the vision of her at the presentation and how similar- yet terribly different- she looked when she knew she had won. 

She’d been completely silent both times, and staring intensely. At the presentation she had looked out of place and completely at home at the same time- she moved gracefully and carefully, but inconspicuously: she looked good, but nothing outstanding compared to the Career girls of District 1 and 2, who were adorned in jewels and gold armour. To everyone but Finnick, Johanna had looked normal and… unimportant. But he saw something in her eyes: something in the way she wore her surprisingly stylish forest green and burnished copper dress with disdain. She looked at him only twice and each time her burgundy-painted lips quirked up at him and her eyes blazed in a manner that seemed to say ‘You’re right; you’ll see.’

He watched her closely after that and informed Mags of his thoughts – even when she was given a distinctly average 6 on the rankings. He thought her interview was bizarre, more contrived than any before, and it was then that it became clear to him that not even the girl’s mentor really knew what she was going to be like in the arena. She wore a strange dress- like a ballerina that had run through a forest- white and smeared with deep reds and greens and coppers. She looked like a creation from a fairy tale and she was surprisingly witty with Caesar. Everything about her was charming but forgettable and Finnick wondered a few times throughout the Games if she had played that card on purpose.

When she killed the Career from District 2 he knew instantly that she had. She had been unreservedly vicious in response to the attack; until that point she had only hidden away, surviving on the water she had collected in a pot from the first rain. She had seemed like she was waiting to be hunted. But when Theses found her she turned into a savage. She fought not from training, Finnick knew, but from instinct and rage. She was quick and flexible and Finnick watched her dodge Theses’ sword and launch at the boy’s face with a dark fascination. She killed Theses with his own sword- wrestling and beating him to the floor with a ferocity the boy had clearly not been expecting, and though he was strong and beat her off several times she still managed to fiercely bite and tear the sword from his hands and drive it into his belly with strangled cries. After that, she was quicker with her kills. Not that there were many: the female Career from 2 who had wounded Johanna from behind but was eventually flung off the waterfall edge, and the boy from 5 who she had saved Frederiken from with some very well-aimed axes… and the final battle with the odds-on favourite Nero from 1. That last fight was the worst, but Finnick had known she would win, even when Nero had jabbed his spear into her stomach in a way that she could have let kill her. They were both smeared with blood and dirt when she finally drove an axe fatally into Nero’s side as he crouched over her on the rocky caverns. She stood up as soon as she had shoved him onto his back away from her and walked to the edge of the cliff of the mountainous terrain the Games had centred around. Finnick had almost paused the screen to simply look at her- her expression was one of containment: like it had been that night at the presentation, as if she had been holding back a natural ferocity that she could only let loose in the Games. 

He had expected her to be exactly the same in her Victor interview, for that look of containment to have vanished and for her to be as charming as before; just more memorable. But she wasn’t, she was still witty, but she let the hardness dominate it. She smiled as if she were baring her teeth, her eyes on Caesar, the audience and President Snow himself were a threat. He watched Snow place the crown on her head, saw him whisper some words in the girls’ ear and saw her eyes harden into ice and Finnick knew that she had just realised what all the other Victor’s already knew: she would never be free again, her freedom died with her victims in that arena.  
When he finally met her she seemed to hate him automatically. She scowled at him the moment he was within metres of her and refused to say anything other than a curt ‘Hello’ when her mentor Blight introduced them. Finnick had an idea of why she hated him- he had come out of the Games even more charming than when he had gone in and in the 6 years since he had been a Victor his popularity as the Capitol’s favourite had soared. She thought he was one of them; he could see it in her eyes later in the evening when President Snow raised a toast to the Victors and the socialite daughter of one of the chief Gamemakers’ had her arm tucked firmly into his. Johanna was watching him, glass of champagne not in the air but dangling precariously from her slim hand at her side, and her eyes were full of it: that rage she held deep down that was starting to seep out of her. He didn’t see her again until the Victory tour, but he watched her every stop on the way. He couldn’t help but laugh at her biting wit and the District presenters’ unawareness of it or, even funnier, inability to handle it. He noticed that she was quiet and restrained at District 5 and he wondered if it was because she felt regret for the boy she had murdered from there. When she arrived in his District, he was there to greet her with a grin that he knew would make her furious and she did not disappoint.

“Johanna, how delightful to see you again.” He bowed to her courteously, but winked provocatively on his way up from it and couldn’t help but grin wider at the clench of her jaw.  
“Likewise.” She could hardly have sounded more sarcastic if she tried and he laughed. There was something about her that made him want to push her buttons- to see that savage temper again. The Games screwed everyone up, even him, and it seemed he had found someone who made him feel strangely ok with it.  
Her Capitol guide was delighted to see Finnick again and seemed to have –in her mind- decided that Finnick and Johanna would make a wonderful combination, so she insisted on having Finnick accompany them for Johanna’s speech and then join them for the rest of their journey. Finnick could sense Johanna’s outrage, but was surprised that she said nothing. It wasn’t until they were back on the train- obligatory speech made- when Johanna and Finnick were left alone for the first time that she finally spoke to him a full sentence.  
He hadn’t said a word to her since Geena had left the carriage to find the maître-d, but he had stared at her. Partly to annoy her; partly to look. All the scars she should have had were non-existent. Not that this surprised him; once he had won he had spent at least 2 days being polished up again. But her natural loveliness seemed to have converted into an Amazonian-esque beauty: within months she had gone from being a pretty, sweet looking 17 year old girl to an 18 year old fury of a woman. 

After a minute, longer than he expected her to take the attention, she turned on him.   
“Stop fucking looking at me. I know you think you’re charming, and to most of this deluded country you are ‘the golden boy’. But I hate you. I hate all of you, all of it. Don’t look at me, talk to me or come near me unless it’s absolutely necessary for the cameras.”  
So she was smarter than he thought: she knew what had to be done to keep everyone (President Snow) happy. He grinned back at her, though he was angry. She had no clear idea yet of what life as a Victor- his life as a Victor- was really like. He wouldn’t tell her. Let her figure it out for herself. She’d be safe for a few years yet. 

Part of him wanted to warn her, and later on that night when he saw her skin glimmering in the candlelight at dinner part of him wanted to show her what would happen, to take her to his room…  
He didn’t do either.  
He simply carried on annoying her, teasing her, flirting with her shamelessly until he thought she might scream. It was only when he saw her eyes flash like they did after she killed Nero that he would stop. He didn’t want to break her… he just wanted to push her as close to the edge as possible and watch her pull herself back.


	2. To The Victor, The Spoils

‘Paint Our Love’   
Chapter Two: To The Victor, The Spoils

They saw each other every year at the Games; though she never mentored she was ‘required’ at the Capitol for its duration. They spoke more each year; only for their conversations- if that’s what they could be called- to get more dangerous. She still didn’t know the real life of a Victor yet, so she still hated them all and didn’t do much to hide it. The older she got the more she discovered: Finnick heard about her Uncle’s café being burnt down, with her Uncle and his young family still inside, just weeks before the 73rd Hunger Games. She’d apparently refused to come. Still, after that, she showed up. Wearing black.

The year after that ‘accident’ and just before the 74th Games she was finally 21- and everything changed. 

She still didn’t mentor, and she still wore black. But he knew, as soon as he saw her again, that it had happened: her first ‘proposition’. He knew when he saw her at the presentation ball; when the tributes had gone to bed and the elitist of the Capitol had a party in which to make their bets and start their gossip. She had arrived on time and looked stunning. More stunning than Gloss, who eyed her with distaste. Finnick looked her over carefully, he always did, his eyes trailing up from her black, strappy heeled delicate shoes, up past the length of the dress that had a daring thigh-high split, enjoying the way the black velvet clung to her hips and waist and breasts up to her neck, with her slim arms and hands decorated with black henna designs and silver nails. Her hair was pinned up intricately with a silver headband and her lips painted a deep, blood-red. As soon as he saw her eyes, when she looked straight at him, he knew it had happened.

He watched her inconspicuously as she moved fluidly around the room, Seneca Crane, the ‘hotshot’ Gamemaker of the last 2 years, always following her around, his hands hovering just above her waist, or wrist, or hips, and his eyes intense and longing. The closer he got to her, the more ardent his gaze and his chatter, the more Johanna stiffened and the fiercer her face became. Finnick watched Seneca lean in, his hand almost resting on Johanna’s waist, his eyes intent on her pursed lips as his own moved rapidly. Finnick, watching her like a hawk, would have found Seneca’s obvious devotion almost-sweet and certainly laughable, had it not been for the whispers he had heard himself throughout the evening: that Seneca Crane wanted Johanna Mason to be his to own, and his alone, and he had paid handsomely for that pleasure. As Seneca moved closer still, the length of his body not-quite pressing against the back of hers, Finnick saw her fists clench and twitch towards her right hip- the same place she had stashed her little axes in the games- and he wondered if she had brought one tonight. He moved away from Mags; who for her part was watching him watch Johanna, and reached her side before Seneca could finally rest his hands on Johanna’s slim curves. 

“Johanna, Seneca,” Finnick nodded at them both, putting on his most brilliant smile, “I hope you don’t mind me interrupting but I believe our citizens want to see some Victors dancing.” The lie sounded so true that Johanna’s lip even upturned in a mixture of relief and annoyance.

Seneca’s face twisted briefly before he controlled himself and he smiled smoothly, “Of course. To the Victor, the spoils.” He raised his glass briefly and eyed Johanna intensely one last time before she strode past them both towards the dance floor. She stopped in the centre and Finnick was in front of her in seconds. She stared past him for a moment before her eyes locked on his. And he knew that she finally no longer hated him.

He stepped towards her and hesitantly, delicately, placed a hand on her waist and lifted her right hand to the correct position with his left. It was the first time they’d ever touched, in four years. Her eyes, suddenly vulnerable, dropped down as she placed her hand tentatively on his shoulder and he took another step towards her. He led her around the marble dance floor gently and said nothing until she lifted her gaze back to his.

He knew what she was about to say so he smiled brightly and said, “Johanna, don’t forget the cameras. They’ll love seeing you dance.”  
Her eyes flashed furiously for a moment and he let out a genuine chuckle, “Once more with that delightful smile.”  
And for a brief few seconds she smiled at him for the first time. It was genuine, but more of a smirk than an actual smile, and he grinned wider when she whispered, “I’ll smile because I want to right now.” She dropped her voice lower and barely moved her lips, “But if Crane comes near me again I’ll only smile when he suffers.” She trembled with anger and Finnick pulled her body right into his, relishing the feel of it. He could feel Seneca was watching, and knew all the other men and women who wanted to fuck them both tonight were, and he knew Snow was watching too. But for the first time since he won the Games, he didn’t care. He held Johanna tight to him and felt her shaking reverberate into his bones. He would not let her go easily.

*

He suffered for that error very soon; Snow had him escort the Presidential designer to the post-interview party at the 74th Games and the middle-aged woman couldn’t keep a finger to herself. But he was side tracked, which helped, there was some odd rumours going round about the impact of the District 12’s girl volunteering and Finnick could sense that the smarter Victors were uneasy about it. When the girl was given an 11 in the scoring- the only one since his own- he was even more distracted. She had brushed up nicely enough but her interview was nothing too special. The only reason he didn’t write her off right away- despite her score- was that she had a look about her, a fierceness that reminded him a little bit of Johanna.

Later on in the evening, when he managed to escape Romena for a few brief minutes whilst she ‘refreshed’ herself with the help of what Johanna coined the ‘bulimia bonbons’, he saw Johanna, Blight and Haymitch in what appeared to be an intense, hushed conversation. He was at their side within seconds, his arm brushing against Johanna’s side deliberately so she shot him a filthy glare. He grinned back.  
“What an impressive year for you Haymitch… there’s a first time for everything.” 

Haymitch stared grimly back at him, understanding the implication of Finnick’s words. “Fuck off.”

Johanna smirked, “Well said… where’s your date?” She turned an eyebrow on him archly. 

Anger and surprise churned in his gut that she would bother to turn that into an insult, and he retorted, “Where’s Crane? Lurking behind those pillars watching you as usual? Or are you two done already for the night?”  
She looked thunderous in an instant and Blight put a hand on her arm, “I’d say bite me Finnick, but you’ve lost any real touch fucking all your vapid Capitol buyers.” She shrugged Blight off and nodded at Haymitch, “I’ll be at the bar,” before pushing past Finnick and striding off. 

He watched her go, furious and amused simultaneously, and admired the way her black lacy cat-suit clung to her every curve. When he turned back to the other men, Haymitch was grinning toothily.

Blight, on the other hand, smiled slightly, but sadly, “She’s angry with you for bringing the woman. She took a beating for refusing Crane again.”

“What?” Finnick stared back at Johanna again, who was stood at the bar tightly holding a tumbler full of whiskey. “When?”

“Last night. She didn’t tell me, but I heard it before she dragged herself into the flat.” He paused briefly and his eyes lit up with a strange mix of anger and pride, “But she did some damage herself. Heard her break one of their legs at least.”  
Finnick, had he not been so angry, would have realised she was lucky to be able to stand there at the bar at all for such a refusal. “I’m going to speak to her.”

Haymitch snorted, “Great idea.”

Blight shook his head, “It won’t change her mind.”

Finnick scowled, he wasn’t sure he wanted to change her mind. He knew what Seneca Crane wanted to do to her, or force her to do to him, but he knew what else the Capitol could do to her if she refused again. He didn’t say another word to Haymitch and Blight before he weaved through the crowd to the bar, smiling and winking when necessary and letting several hands graze across his bum and crotch and stomach on his way. He was used to it now- being treated like a toy, like an object. His desirability kept him alive and his family safe. 

She was quite drunk when he reached her and he wondered how many tumblers of whiskey she had drunk in those brief few minutes she was alone at the bar. She was leaning against a gold column at the end of the bar and she stood out, from all the bright hair and dresses and shining metallic-tinted skins of the Capitol woman, in a way that made him pause before he reached her. He had to be subtle about this. Johanna was clever but she wasn’t measured. He had to get this just right or both of them would suffer even more.  
He sauntered up to her, looking cheery and for all the world as if he was greeting a dear family member, “Johanna.” He said her name loudly enough for some to hear so that his tone of simple pleasantness could be noted. But when he got nearer and she looked at him, still scowling, he murmured her name so only she could hear. He stood by her, still grinning in his most practiced manner, “Where does it hurt?”

Her head turned to his and he knew she was infuriated he’d found out. “Nowhere- fucking guards here are just thugs.”  
She was lying, he knew, of course she was hurt. What she really meant was, “It was nothing compared to the Games, to life,” and of course, she meant, “I got them back.”

He said nothing, but turned towards her slightly, still smiling, eyes still wide cheerily. “You can’t do it forever.”

“Neither can you.” Her eyes were on his, not quite sharp but not soft either, and her voice was cutting. He nearly flinched. She turned away and downed the liquid in her glass. “Now fuck off, I’m going to cause trouble and you have a date to entertain.”  
There was no way he was going to do what she said or let her do anything stupid. He took the glass from her, set it down behind him and dropped his voice to the lowest it could get. “We’re leaving. Meet me at the elevator. Let’s cause trouble somewhere else.”

She resisted him for a few moments, “Fuck them.” 

He knew she wanted to let it out that part of her ferocious nature was screaming to show them what she really thought. But maybe it was him, maybe it was her covered bruises from the previous night, maybe the drink dulled her emotions… but after glowering at him for a moment she nodded tightly and walked off.

Part of him knew that, again, somewhere in that room, Snow and Crane were watching. But something about the way people were gossiping about Katniss Everdeen made Finnick instinctively feel that this time they wouldn’t be Snow’s primary concern. So he walked off too, still smiling and kissing cheeks, whilst mentally counting the 30 seconds it would take him to reach Johanna at the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read & review :) Thanks! 'Called Out In The Dark' coming up soon if anyone wants to read that as a sidepiece with this :)


	3. Like A Forest On Fire

AUTHOR’S NOTE: So this is where it starts to really merge with ‘Called Out In The Dark’ but for any readers who haven’t, and don’t want/aren’t reading that, then essentially Cato and Katniss have a weird alliance going on in the Games- they don’t kill each other when they have the chance due to their attraction… Here is where we see how that affects the creeping rebellion. 

‘Paint Our Love’  
Chapter Three: Like A Forest On Fire

Warning: explicit language and some violence in this chapter. 

"They’re fucked.” Johanna bit out what they were all thinking as Katniss Everdeen and the District 2 boy Cato both walked away from one another and the dead boy of District 5. Finnick looked over at her and saw she was the only one in the room who had managed to keep her face impassive. The rest of them looked how he felt: completely astounded. It didn’t seem real that those 2 tributes had just changed history with their weird, tense alliance.

“This could be a good thing.” Haymitch finally said, his voice slow and gravelly. He sat up slightly straighter and rubbed a hand over his face. He suddenly looked exhausted.

“Don’t be stupid Haymitch. You know Snow will kill them.” Johanna glared over at Haymitch, her voice like flint, and Effie coughed nervously and stood up.

Finnick couldn’t help but chuckle at the look Johanna gave her, which made her sit straight back down. Haymitch sat up and looked at Johanna. “Not these two. Not if we get there first.”

They all stared back at him, stunned. What the hell did he mean?

*

They planned quietly and carefully as the games continued and Katniss became the ‘mockingjay’ to the revived District 13’s rebellion. When she and Cato were cooped up in the cave together after the fire damaged most of the forest, they knew their time had come to take action. Johanna was thrilled and had no hesitation in showing it. Her ferocity could finally be let out: all that fury she had had to strain into her well-renowned icy wit could instead become savage strategic mutiny. She started to let her disgust show. And she paid for it dearly.

The same day that Haymitch sent a joint gift to Katniss and Cato was the same day the Capitol held a desperate ball; Snow knew that this alliance between Katniss and Cato had to be managed carefully. The Victors and mentors were all invited and Finnick expected Johanna to behave slightly worse than usual: maybe get drunker, say something even more provocative to Caesar Flickerman than usual and maybe wear something even more dark and disturbed. 

No-one expected her to turn up in a one shoulder red silk dress held together at the bust and hip with large gold mockingjay pins. And no-one expected her to announce on live TV that ‘being a Victor is worse than dying in the arena. I’m not victorious, I’m a pet, I’m a puppet, and some of you want me to be your whore. Well fuck that- haven’t you seen my pins? Didn’t you see Katniss and Cato saving each other? There’s no control here anymore; people should unite like they did.’ 

Finnick watched all this from his position in the centre of a crowd of gasping, painted women. He saw her green eyes burn and shine like a forest on fire and the way she stood, challenging and commanding. He wished she was drunk, hoped that they might all think she was. 

But her voice was so strong and certain and passionate. Finnick could see the faces of the other Victors: a mixture of admiration, pride, fear and disgust. He thought his must have shown complete terror. There was a hushed silence by the time she was finished, sipping in a deliberately delicate manner from her champagne saucer and the whole room watched, the tension practically a fog around them, as she smiled – teeth glistening brutally- and sauntered off. People moved apart in the crowd to let her through as if under some kind of spell. She was out of the room in seconds, but it felt like hours until Caesar Flickerman was laughing in such a forced manner it almost sounded uncontrollable and he gasped out, “Johanna Mason! What a tease of a Victor! Such a terrible joker and so deliberately controversial! What you didn’t see at home or here people… let me tell you she was winking at me so much then that I just couldn’t ruin her pretend tantrum!”

People in the crowd began to laugh with him, and someone even cheered for Johanna and Finnick felt such a relief that he laughed too, clapping along with them and wondering how long he would have to stay before he could find her. She was loved enough by the Capitol citizens, and Crane in a way- and these idiots proved that- to not be able to kill off. But what Snow might do to her… to her family, her home. 

Only hours later, he was at her door. And he found out how much she paid for her real nature… within minutes Snow had District 7 suffer a severe outbreak of acid gas. The next morning the news told Panem that one of the lumber yards had used too many chemicals in a smoking chamber and that the fumes were so toxic it poisoned and melted hundreds of citizens inside out.

Just before the ‘accident’ at 7, Snow’s personal peacekeepers had beaten Johanna so violently that Finnick found her curled in a pile of her own vomited blood, clutching a dislocated shoulder and broken shin, delirious and moaning, her face distorted with bruises, cuts and blood. When Finnick had cleaned her up, a team arrived to put her back together again and they treated her with such roughness that Finnick raged; beating them off her and almost strangling one to death.

He woke up hours later after what he knew had been a sedated sleep to find her looking brand new again; but more broken than ever. She told him, in a voice so shaken he never expected to hear from her, that Snow had sent her a personal message with his healers. Her family- her mother, father, brother, brother’s wife – all her remaining family- had been ‘brave enough’ to try and help contain the toxic gases and died in the attempts. He showed her their remains in the video link and assured her that the Capitol’s people would look after their ‘victorious’ after this tragedy. 

Finnick couldn’t say anything to her; he could think of nothing that would ease her devastation, her shame and guilt and her fury. But that night he scooped her off her couch, carried her to her bed, undressed her slowly down to her nude slip underdress, slipped off his own suit and curled his body around hers. She cried and howled and screamed into his arms and chest, biting his bare shoulders and digging her nails into his biceps. She pressed herself so close into him that he felt her entire body shudder and quake and rage. And they stayed like that all night, until she exhausted herself trying to wrestle and fight him off, screaming so hoarse her voice cracked and faded and her eyes finally had to shut under the swelling and heartbreak. 

When she was finally asleep, he brought one of her clenched fists to his mouth and kissed every fingertip, every knuckle, every pounding vein on the top of her hand and her delicate wrist-bone. And then he let himself whisper, “It’s not your fault,” his own tears finally falling from his eyes onto her hair. He hated Snow and the Capitol and the games more than ever that night.  
*

Johanna and Finnick didn’t leave her flat for three days. She wouldn’t eat and would only drink when he pressed a glass of water or juice or chocolate to her lips. He ran her a bath every morning when she woke up, drenched in sweat and tears next to him, and carried her into the bathroom. He’d sit on the floor of the bathroom whilst she climbed in and let herself continuously slip under the water and hold her breath till her body forced her to launch her head back out of the water and suck in a lungful of air. Finnick loved the sound each time, terrified he wouldn’t hear it again. He’d wait silently until she would say, “I hate him,” quietly and stand up, her soaked satin slip sticking to her wet skin in a way that- even in such a devastating moment- he found hard to tear his eyes from. He would stand and turn around, handing her a cotton towel robe and see from the corner of his eye Johanna peel the slip off and drop it on top of the other wet ones in the corner. She’d then reach a hand out to his shoulder and he’d turn to steady her as she stepped out of the bathtub. They would go straight back to bed, where she’d pull on another of her slips, and lie there until she would wake fully from various fitful sleeps and waking sobs and screams. 

On the third morning, she woke up, rubbed her face into his upper arm and whispered, “You smell like me, like them.” And she cried again, in a way she hadn’t before, quietly and softly and it was that time that hurt Finnick the most to see.

After that, she got out of bed at lunchtime with him and they ate. That afternoon Haymitch sent them a message: he wanted them at District 12. Whilst they had been grieving, the rebellion had been acting- the Games had been broken and the tributes rescued. The Capitol had paid them back in favour by bombing the remains of District 13… in those three days the revolution had officially begun.


	4. We're Still Alive

Paint Our Love  
Chapter Four: We’re Still Alive

 

They didn’t need to discuss it- they were going to join the rebellion; that much they were both sure of. What their roles would be they had no idea.

That night Finnick and Johanna heard from Haymitch again and took the craft to 12- they arrived just before dawn, to see the terracotta sun rising over the vast forest surrounding the mining district. Finnick winced; it looked like 7, and he glanced over to gage Johanna’s reaction. But Johanna did not flinch. She was as still and silent as the elms below them until they arrived.

After a meet with Haymitch and debriefing- change of plans, they were going to 11 in the morning, they were needed to support there after the bombing of the underground, non-mythical District 13- they were pointed to their separate rooms.

Finnick fell asleep quickly and dreamt of Johanna; chasing her through a jungle, following a trail of teasingly dropped clothes and the sound of her delighted laughter. He woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding and within seconds – despite his distraction- he knew someone was in his room.

Moments later, he knew it was her.

A shadow from the doorway moved slowly and silently towards him, steps faltering suddenly as Finnick sat up.

“Johanna.”

He knew it was her but she took a moment to respond.

“Finnick.” She paused, and then her voice was sharp, annoyed, “I couldn’t sleep.”

She was annoyed at herself, he knew that. She was annoyed for coming in to see him; for what she would think of as weak after her recent breakdown, which they had not spoken about at all. But she made her way over silently, and the moonlight from the windows finally fell on her, illuminating her petite frame, which was covered only with a long white satin night dress with thin shoulder straps. Finnick realised, once she had perched next to him, on top of his covers, that his body was only just recovering from his dream.

Typically, she noticed. “Did I interrupt?” her voice was as dry as sandpaper.

His hand shot out to grab her wrist as she begun to move away, “No.” He grinned, “Just a good dream.”

She eyed him narrowly but eventually rolled her eyes, “Looks like a really good dream.” She moved back towards him and leant against his arm as he sat up.

He bent his head down to hers, twisting his body towards hers, “Epic dream. You were in it.” He smirked as her eyes narrowed again.

“Shuttup.” Despite the annoyance in her eyes, her cheeks were pink, and she didn’t move away from his body.

“I was following you through a jungle.” He kept his eyes on hers, voice soft… he couldn’t quite believe he was saying it. What was he expecting, hoping for?

There was a long pause until she whispered, “What happened when you found me?”

He couldn’t contain his grin and he curled an arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him. “Do you really want to know?”

She cackled suddenly, her eyes devious, “No!” She jabbed him lightly in the ribs with her elbow. 

He laughed, though part of him was disappointed, until she sunk into his arms and sighed, “I don’t have dreams anymore, what’s the point?”

He smiled into her hair, “We’re still alive, that’s good enough for me.”

She huffed darkly, “Not sure how long that’s going to last.”

Finnick was silent, but his arm tensed around her briefly. “Not if things go our way… we just have to make them.”

“Or die trying.” Johanna added quietly, looking up at him once more.   
Finnick smiled down at her, “So optimistic Johanna. I love it.”

She snorted a laugh and sat up, “Have you got another pillow? Your chest is pretty comfy but I’m not too keen on waking up with glitter stuck to my face.”

He laughed and pulled one of the pillows out from under his back, “I don’t wear it all the time!”

She snorted again as she put the pillow down and lay gently back on to it, “Course not- you’re just naturally sparkly.”

He grinned voraciously as he slunk down next to her, rolling onto his side towards her. “Of course. Like you’re naturally prickly.”

She grinned back, almost viciously. “Exactly golden-boy.” She rolled over, her back towards him and Finnick felt another stab of disappointment until she tilted her head back to him and said “Night.” in a voice so soft he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her until she fell asleep.

Instead, knowing that their recent closeness had been in grief and nothing more, he merely rolled onto his back and smiled up at the ceiling, “Night Johanna.”

*

When he woke up the next morning she was gone, exactly as he had anticipated. But that didn’t make it sting any less and he dressed and headed downstairs to the kitchen feeling tired with disappointment. She was already there, the steam of her coffee masking her face slightly; her left hand toying with a chunk of bread. She didn’t look up until he sat opposite her.

“You ok?” he asked, eyeing her pale face carefully.

She nodded once and took a sip of her coffee. “Do you want this?” She pushed the plate of untouched bread and jam towards him without waiting for a response.

He wanted to admonish her for not eating, but knew it would do no good. Instead he smiled chirpily, “Thanks.”

He had bitten into it, dipped in the dark jam, when Haymitch appeared in the doorway. “We’re moving you out now. The plan is to get the tributes to film a propaganda to raise awareness,” he rolled his eyes, “it’s bullshit if you ask me but its keeping Plutarch bouncing.”

Johanna snorted, “It’ll work; the people of this country are such fucking cowards they need teenagers to lead them.” She stood up and stretched and Finnick’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the line of her petite curves. “Let’s get out of here.” She downed her coffee and eyed Finnick and he gave her a wolfish grin before taking another huge mouthful of the bread. The corner of her lips perked up slightly and he stood to follow her, eyes sparkling at Haymitch as he carried the bread with him.  
It turned out Haymitch wasn’t joining them; his place was still with his tribute. Johanna snorted again at this news as he led them to the craft hidden on the edge of the woods. “You think she needs you Haymitch?”

Haymitch shot her a grin that didn’t meet his eyes, “Who knows. Point is I have to be here in case she does.”   
Johanna rolled her dark eyes at him and climbed into the craft without a goodbye. Finnick shook Haymitch’s hand, “See you soon?”

Haymitch shrugged, “I hope so.” He paused awkwardly and looked up at the entrance to the craft Johanna had climbed through, “Take care of her.”

“You know I will.” Finnick replied simply; there was nothing else he could say and Haymitch nodded, satisfied. They both knew that Finnick would do anything for Johanna and as he climbed into the craft he wondered whether or not she knew that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review :)


	5. I Just Want To

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Err it’s a little crude/explicit language and imagery in this chapter.

Paint Our Love  
Chapter Five: I Just Want To

When they arrived at 11 they were both struck dumb- this was a district that had fully, and successfully, run the Peacekeepers out. They were lead to the Unity Building, which the rebellion had commandeered, and as they followed the 11 leader Naisie, Johanna turned to Finnick and said, not at all quietly, “How have these guys not been bombed yet?”

Naisie heard her- clearly Johanna’s intention, and spun to face them both, “The Capitol can’t afford to be that open yet- if they give us too much attention people will realise this rebellion is real. Besides,” she grinned without humour, “We’re more underground than they think. This runs deep.” 

Finnick and Johanna exchanged a look, but said nothing and entered the Justice Building to find a meeting was in place. There was a large screen at the head of the long table in the meeting room- once the dining hall of Peacekeepers- and stretched wide across it was the face of Commander Paylor, from district 8. She was in the middle of a sentence but her speech faltered when she saw Finnick and Johanna.

“Gosh, we’re so famous.” Finnick drawled in his old Capitol voice, as all heads turned to them. Johanna grinned wickedly- though it looked more like she was baring her teeth- and sat down in the nearest seat. Finnick sat in the spare next to her and grinned wider, “My apologies, don’t pause on our account. We’re here to help.”

A few heads turned back to the screen as Paylor cleared her throat, but many more remained locked on Finnick and Johanna. Johanna glared back at them fiercely and soon most of them had looked away entirely.

“Well I’d like to extend my thanks to you both for the work you have done so far in spreading the word and giving us intel. Haymitch and Boggs kindly donated you here in order to support our counter-attack plans. We are in contact with many others in the other districts, but we do believe some more familiar faces might be persuasive too. We also would like any further information you have on the Capitol’s security systems and any news you might hear about the capture of Coin, from 13, following the bombing there.” Paylor had a strong, clear voice and something noble in her eyes that Finnick liked- evidently Johanna saw something worthy there too.

“We’ve got nothing on Coin at the moment but we have left behind most of our contacts- your best bet is going to be anyone you have from costume design, they hear a lot.” Johanna’s voice was surprisingly, unusually, polite and she was no longer scowling so deeply as everyone stared her way. “And if you want more help on technology and security you’re talking to the wrong Victors.”

She said nothing more so Paylor patiently asked, “Who?”

Johanna shared a look with Finnick, who kept eye contact with her even as he replied, “Beetee.”

*

It was the same day at lunch that the whipping news reached them and Haymitch had already been in contact to share the district 12 rebellions’ fears- the Capitol would be coming for them.

Granter Jobe, Rue’s father, had been sat with Finnick and Johanna at the time and had clutched his food tray so hard it shook and the gravy from his lunch dripped onto his shoe. He barely noticed as he watched the footage and Finnick could sense the man’s concern as he saw no sign of his tiny girl in the mad crowd. “She’ll be ok,” Finnick said softly, his voice low as he took the man’s tray and placed it down on the table for him, “Haymitch has said she’s safe and they’re getting ready to evacuate to here now.”

Granter turned dark eyes to him, “She’s coming home?”

Finnick felt Johanna stiffen next to him, they weren’t supposed to be sharing that information, but she elbowed him subtly to continue nonetheless and Finnick replied, “Yes. Keep it quiet. They don’t want everyone to know Katniss is coming here yet.”

Granter nodded- he had no spare concern for Katniss Everdeen right now, “My girl.” His voice trembled and one round tear slid down his face. “I’ll see her again.”

Finnick said nothing and glanced sideways towards Johanna, who had her olive stare fixed firmly ahead. He knew she was thinking of her own family- of all of them that she had lost- and he moved his hand under the table to take hers; but both her hands were clenched into fists on her thighs. He moved his fingers over her fist carefully, still studying her face and noticing no difference, so he begun to withdraw, but her left hand suddenly opened and latched onto his fiercely. He looked down at it and back up and her eyes- dark, olive and intense- were on his. He wanted to smile but his mouth would not move at all; there was something different in her gaze; something he wasn’t sure he had seen before. He was just managing to open his mouth to ask, or perhaps to lean forward and kiss her, when Naisie clapped him on the back suddenly from behind and said, “You guys are needed in control.”

Within seconds Johanna’s hand had slipped from his and she was up on her feet striding after Naisie. Finnick turned to Granter briefly and said only, “Soon.” before following the others out. 

*

“What the fuck do you think?” Johanna’s question was blunt, her voice hard, as they exited the dining hall/meeting room and made their way back through the courtyard to their assigned house. 

Finnick couldn’t contain a grin at her obvious displeasure, “I think it’s good to be useful. We can either go back as spies- which we both know is suicide-”

“Or we can train these farmers and go to war, which we both know is suicide.” Johanna interrupted, her eyes flashing angrily as she practically stomped down the courtyard steps.

“They’ve fought here enough Johanna, they’re not just farmers anymore.” Finnick said measuredly. He was actually impressed with the plan- they, her and Johanna, were to be trainers. They knew Capitol weapons better than most, they were stronger and far more skilled than any rebellion army general, and it stopped them from having to return to the Capitol to whore themselves out for secrets; which frightened Finnick. He thought back to Seneca Crane’s desperate interest in Johanna and knew, logically, that it made sense to manipulate that. Crane was one of Snow’s top secret keepers. But the thought of Johanna having to… of him touching her… Finnick scowled. He wouldn’t accept that.

“They’re not soldiers either.” Johanna shot back eventually, turning as she walked to face him. “We can’t train them for war in only a few weeks.”

“Why not?” Finnick asked, his mind’s torturous images of Johanna and Crane angering him, “We trained ourselves for it in less.”

“This isn’t the Games Finnick. For fucks sake,” she scowled at him and turned back away to walk ahead, “we should go back and get some useful information. I could-”

“No.” The firmness, the anger in his voice, stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to him again, her face cool but her eyes burning. 

“No.” he said it again, not backing down, his emerald eyes bright on her. “Don’t do that to yourself Johanna. Not now.”

She glared back, “I want Snow dead. I want them all to suffer. I want it done quicker than this.” 

Finnick moved forward to grab her arms but she stepped out of his reach, “It’s not your fault.” He reached for her again but this time she shoved him away hard.

“It IS my fault! Don’t you fucking get it? I might as well have slaughtered them myself! I need Snow dead. This rebellion isn’t going to get fucking anywhere unless he is dead. I want to sink my axe into his skull and watch him die Finnick.” Her voice was a volcano- it burst out of her fiery and burning and then cooled dangerously as her eyes filled with tears. She would do it, he knew, if she got the chance. 

But he knew what she’d have to do to get that chance.

“You can’t. Not yet. Not through him.” He could hear his voice pleading her, his eyes too wide on her. He was giving himself away here, giving away his feelings. 

“Him? Crane?” she had lost her fury in her confusion. “He’s been begging for me for months now Finnick, he’d tell me anything the minute I…”

“Don’t! Don’t Johanna.” He couldn’t bear it- to hear the end of that sentence, to have to visualise her wrapping her mouth around Crane’s cock, or see her splayed out for him. He shuddered and she scowled at him.

“What the fuck? Why not?! You used to do it all the time!” she jabbed at him hard with a pointed finger. 

He tried to grab the hand but she pulled it back and started to stride away even as he spoke, “Not like this! Not now. I didn’t, before, I…”

“Before what Finnick? Everyone I love is dead now! I should have done it and I didn’t, but now’s too late? Now- now I could do something fucking useful after sucking his cock, now you’re telling me to stay here and teach teenage farmers to die quickly?!” she was yelling now, still stalking away, but he had caught her up and flinched at her words. She went to push him back but he grabbed her arms and pulled her forcibly to him. He knew she could probably out-wrestle him, her hand-to-hand combat was incredible- but he held her tight and let her struggle against him again. “Please Johanna.”

She sagged then, quite suddenly, and lifted her head to his, millimetres away. Her eyes, dark now, met his. She was uncertain and angry and…

“Please.” He whispered this time, loosening his grip on his arms and holding her softly, like he had for the 3 days where her heart broke. 

She stared up at him silently, her brow furrowed, her mouth parted slightly and she leaned into him a little, her breath ghosting his face and he felt like she could see in his mind his abject fear of that scene with Crane, of that scene of her and any other man, of losing her and of wanting her so badly for himself…

And with a suddenness Finnick could barely process she was out of his arms and stalking silently away.

He didn’t shout after her and he didn’t chase her this time. He just watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now it's really merging with 'Called Out In The Dark'... please keep reading and reviewing.


	6. Just Let My Love Adorn You

AUTHOR’S NOTE: So it’s definitely M rated now: with explicit language and sexual situations in this chapter.

Paint Our Love

Chapter Six: Just Let My Love Adorn You

She was already in her room when he reached their allocated safe house, so he made his way straight to bed, stripping off his thick navy trousers and burgundy sweater- Capitol clothes- and climbing in to the coarse, barely-white-anymore sheets that were so different to the silk and satin and Egyptian cotton he was used to. He quite liked the simplicity of life here- though he knew it was a stupid thing to think; that these people had lived in squalor and that this simplicity was in fact luxury to them. He laid out on his back, staring blankly up at the concrete ceiling and his mind recalled the images Naisie had shown him and Johanna of the rebellion so far: the crumbled ruins of 13, the riots in 11 and 8, the destitution of 12 under the new harsher rules… his own upbringing, pre-Games, had been so much sweeter. He had a home, a loving family, a simple life of school and swimming at the beach with friends; there was always food on the table and clean clothes and bedsheets. For most people in District 4 life was pretty good. Would he have rebelled if he hadn’t been reaped? He didn’t know. He only knew that these people lived tough lives, and so had he – because of the Games, the Capitol, Snow… Johanna’s words reverberated around his skull and he pressed his hands to his face, before running them through his hair and sitting up in a sudden panic. What if she’s gone? 

He leapt out of bed, and practically sprinted through to her room, not bothering to knock on the door and barrelling through. He came to an abrupt halt when his eyes landed on her and his ears registered her shout: she was lying naked, front down on her bed, a book now dangling from her right hand as she had half-turned towards him, glaring furiously. Finnick stood dumbly, unable to stop his eyes drinking her in hungrily: his gaze drifted – finally- away from her toned bum and her long, slim legs, to take in her curved in waist, travelling up the planes of her back and shoulders and landing on her face. He noticed her flushed cheeks and, without meaning to, smirked.

“What the fuck!?” she demanded, glaring at him with dark eyes, but making no move to cover herself up at all. She didn’t move at all in fact and Finnick struggled to keep his gaze on hers.

“Just checking in,” he shrugged, eyes twinkling and trying to appear nonchalant, but his body was reacting to hers being so close. His hands twitched at his sides, aching to run over her smooth, creamy skin, so he crossed his arms over his chest and begged his cock to stay down, to not rear up and out to her.

She stared back at him, raised her eyebrows and said, “And you thought you’d just stand there staring huh?” 

Finnick looked back at her closely, his eyes now happy to fixate on hers, trying to read her, when he realised there was no real bite in her tone and she still wasn’t covering up. She wasn’t shy about her body he knew, and he had seen her near-naked before, but there was something different about this deliberately maintained nakedness. He had a strange hope, and he grinned. “I’ve always liked to admire pieces of art Johanna.”

It was the wrong joke to make- he regretted it instantly- for her eyes, twinkling before, dulled and she rolled them. “So go find a mirror. I’m not just to be looked at Finnick- even Crane knew that.”

He flinched and moved forward; stopping a foot away from her and the bed, “Don’t compare me to him Johanna. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then don’t treat me like the rest of them.” She turned her face away, her voice biting and she lifted her book back up onto the pillow. 

“I’m sorry,” Finnick whispered, “I could barely function seeing you like this… I thought you might have left and I…” she hadn’t moved at all as he spoke, but he took this as a sign he could continue, “You’re nothing like the rest of them. You never could be to me. I can’t bear the thought of him touching you Johanna, of any of them, and I,” his voice was failing him, his courage was failing him, and he ran a hand through his hair and crouched down right next to her bed. “You’re special to me in every way Johanna.”

She turned her head slowly towards him and locked her eyes on his. “Why are you saying this?”

He didn’t miss a beat, “I’m in love with you. I love you.” 

There was a momentary pause where they simply looked at each other, until she said quietly, “I’m not going to say it back.” 

There was no harshness in her tone, no anger or malice, but Finnick’s heart contracted painfully and he looked down from her, until he felt her hand reach around his nape and sink into his hair, pulling it – and him- up and towards her. He moved with her grip, his eyes back on hers, as he climbed up onto the bed and she moved her body, curling onto her back so he was half leant over her, supporting himself only with his elbows, either side of her face. They weren’t quite touching yet, but he could feel the heat of her body under his and his skin prickled with desire. He said nothing, still unsure and hurt by her response, until she pulled his head down to hers, pushing up at the same time and kissed him softly and so longingly that he knew- he understood- that she would not say it, but that did not mean it wasn’t felt at least a little bit. 

It took him moments to catalogue the feeling beyond her lips- finally- on his but his body reacted instantaneously as his mind registered that her breasts were pressed against him, her nipples hardening against his skin, her thighs- smooth and toned- were spreading apart under his hips and the hair between her legs rubbing against his stomach was hot and wet. He groaned into her mouth and slid one of his hands under her neck and held her nape, pressing her further into him. They kissed languidly at first but soon their bodies acted for them- Johanna’s thighs came up around his waist, locking him between them, and Finnick’s hands began to slide over her skin; gripping her waist and her hips and sliding up over her ribs. He pulled his head away from the kiss, and stared down at her in wonder. Her olive eyes were almost golden now too; the flecks of yellow in them sparkling, and her pretty lips were swollen, and curved into a smirk. He smirked back, dipping his head to kiss along her jawline and down her throat and neck, sucking every now and then and moving his hands just lightly over her breasts. He sat back up onto his heels, her legs unwrapping and falling either side of him and he stared down at her, his cock now rock-hard and straining against his boxer shorts. She raised an eyebrow teasingly, and he chuckled gruffly, moving his hands still feather-light over her breasts, and under them, around her waist and over her hipbones, gliding his fingers just through the tips of the dark hair at her cunt, before sliding them back up and bending down. One hand gripped at her waist as his head fell to her breasts, kissing and sucking and nipping at her flesh and nipples, his cock straining harder still as she gripped his hair in her hands and her breath became short little gasps. 

He moved his mouth along both breasts, slowly sliding his hand down her waist, and up her neck again, pausing just over her lips once more as his hand reached her thighs, drawing small circles there with his fingers. He kissed her once, hard, then pulled back to look down at her, and she winked once, slowly, and he slid his fingers through her soft folds and sunk two knuckle-deep inside of her. She bit her lip as he used his thumb to press down and rub against her clit and he crooked his fingers inside of her, pushing them in and out softly and rhythmically. She lifted her head to his to kiss him again, before her head dropped back with a soft moan as his fingers found her g-spot and rubbed against it inside of her. He bent his head down to kiss her once before moving back down her neck and latching his mouth hotly onto her collarbone and along it to reach her breastbone. She gulped and gasped under his touch, her breasts rising and falling more rapidly under his mouth now, and he could the wetness inside of her seeping past his fingers and onto his palms. He continued his ministrations, hardly able to breath himself, his cock desperate and aching, his own desire merging with his elation to have her underneath him like this, wanting him, and letting him touch her like this… her cunt suddenly clenched around his fingers, but he did not stop moving them or his thumb, only looking up from her breasts to see her mouth fall open and hear- ever so softly- his name slip from her lips as her orgasm rippled through her. He slowed his movements as her inner walls spasmed and her body shook a little, his hand stopping when her body did. He pulled his fingers from her slowly, carefully, and grinned at their stickiness as she swallowed and opened her eyes under him. 

She caught sight of his smug face and before he had time to realise it was happening, she had flipped him onto his back and was straddling him; her wet and hot cunt pressing into his still-covered and erect cock. He was under her and at her mercy now, and she wriggled above and over him deliberately, torturously, her eyes twinkling as he groaned at the contact and the sight of her naked body sitting up over him. She leaned down and pressed herself into him and he thought briefly, with horror, that he might come then and there. In fact, there was no opportunity for that at all, as piercing through their lustful, hazy and intense paradise was an air-raid siren. District 11 was under attack.

*

They sat with their shoulders pressed together and knees up, in the tense silence of the Unity houses’ underground safe house. The bombing had been surprisingly brief, and Finnick wondered if it had been a warning for them - televised and planned by the Capitol - instead of a full-scale assault. Naisie had been gone from the shelter for twenty minutes now, and some of the citizens were nervy and emotional. Finnick could barely get his head straight- only an hour ago he had been intertwined with Johanna and now they were shoddily dressed and sat in long silence. She had been avoiding his gaze and his main concern- beyond even the bombs- was that she regretted what had happened, that he had misread the moment for being more than perhaps an awful pity fuck.

The doors to the shelter suddenly begun beeping and people begun to murmur and cry out; some in fear and some in relief. Finnick ad Johanna stood simultaneously and moved forward, just in case it wasn’t Naisie and her team. They both shouldered their guns with the door guards as it begun to slowly slide open. They raised their weapons, ready, when Naisie’s voice called through. “We’re clear. We’re stable.”

*

Nobody returned to their assigned huts that night; they were all now being held in the rebellion compound. Some of the area had been destroyed and some of the more hesitant citizens had died, so they no longer took any risk. The Capitol’s bombing had been light and as Finnick had thought it had been a televised event; used as propaganda and supposedly for District 11’s drug manufacture problem. They were becoming a scapegoat, for whilst the Capitol had bombed part of 11 and made that an open event; they had used that press coverage to hide their fire-bombing of 12 entirely. Finnick and Johanna were part of the control team who were in constant contact with 12’s rebels as they evacuated. It was clear that the minute the Girl-on-Fire would arrive that 11 would be ready for war.

*

Thanks for the hits and reviews so far- please keep with it and comment more, it's so useful as motivation!


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